


Masquerade Misadventure

by Joolzmp7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blind Date, Chases, Christmas, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, Deductions, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joolzmp7/pseuds/Joolzmp7
Summary: John gets dragged to a Christmas reunion costume party by his old colleague, Greg.  They go over to speak to the two attractive men standing by the bar who are their dates for the evening... or are they?





	Masquerade Misadventure

Masquerade Misadventure

By Joolz

 

It all started with an invitation in the mail. John Watson had been back in the country for six months now and was very slowly re-integrating himself back to life in London. He had been attending sessions with his therapist and, though her idea about starting a blog had been completely unhelpful, her recommendation to apply to the GP surgery within the Health Centre where she had her office had borne fruit. He had an interview later that week to provide locum cover whilst one of the partners was on maternity leave. GP work wasn’t the most thrilling option after his three tours in Afghanistan but it would tide him over until he decided what he wanted to do with his now defunct army career.

John had been with the RAMC and had been seconded to provide medical cover to a Special Forces mission team going in to a hostage rescue situation. They had got the hostages safely out of the building where they were being held, after John had patched up the injuries of the walking wounded. The worst was a soldier with a knife wound to the stomach so, after packing the injury and applying tension bandages, John and one of the rescue team rigged up a stretcher and carried him to their destination. Unfortunately, when they were almost back to their evacuation point, they were targeted by a rogue shooter and John took a bullet to the shoulder. The team took out the assailant before he could attack the in-bound chopper and they were able to drag John on-board and apply pressure whilst they headed back to base. He was taken straight in to surgery and they managed to sew up his wounds but the ricochet from the bullet against the bone had caused some nerve damage and left him with a slight tremor in his hand.

John had returned back to England after his first stage of recovery in the base hospital as the doctors had deemed that, with his injury, he would be unable to perform the delicate surgeries necessary on a military base. Thus, he had been invalided out of the service and wound up where he found himself now, in a lonely, little bedsit in a block of army accommodation, pondering his future and staring at the invitation in his hand.

It was for a ten year reunion for Sandhurst Military Academy where he had done his officer candidate training and had obviously come about after his meeting last week with a fellow attendee, Greg Lestrade. Greg had been a big pal of his own at the Academy but they had lost touch whilst John had been away. Greg had finished his training at the same time as John and been all set to join the Military Police when his mother had been taken very ill and he, being her only relative, had taken over her care. He had moved back home and decided to transfer across to the regular police force instead so that he wouldn’t get posted abroad and have to leave her on her own.

John had bumped into Greg when he’d walked past New Scotland Yard on one of his meandering treks through the city. Even though his injury had been through his shoulder, he had developed a compensatory limp and currently used a walking stick. He made himself walk as far as he could each day to stretch the muscles in his leg as he refused to pander to the blasted thing when it hadn’t even been injured. His therapist had told him it was psychosomatic – as if he didn’t know that for himself, thank you very much – but regardless of what he knew, he still couldn’t shake the phantom pains with which he was plagued. 

Greg had been just knocking off duty so the pair of them had gone to Greg’s local and downed a few pints whilst they caught up on what the other had been doing in the last ten years. Greg had told him about the reunion and said he’d mention it to the organisers as they’d been trying to get together as many former classmates as possible and obviously lost contact with John since his discharge.

As it was Christmas time, the organisers had decided to make it a masquerade ball and John hadn’t been at all sure if he wanted to even bother attending. The note that Greg had enclosed with the invite was making him doubt it even more. Greg had said ‘Don’t worry about the Plus One, I’ve booked us a couple of partners.’ What did that mean – booked? He surely hadn’t hired escorts for the evening, had he? John was sure he wouldn’t dazzle anyone walking in with his stupid limp, let alone be able to spin them around the dance floor. What had Greg been thinking?

John had finally decided on Zorro as his masked costume. He had perused all the options at a nearby party shop and that had seemed exotically swashbuckling and the black bandana against his blond hair and tanned skin had suited him perfectly, making him feel some of his old, pre-injury confidence. When the day dawned, he’d had a snack at lunch time and got showered and dressed with about an hour to spare and was now waiting for Greg to pick him up.

The party looked like being quite a swanky affair as it was being held at The Dorchester. John was waiting at the kerb when Greg pulled up in a taxi so they wasted no time in heading off. John laughed when he saw Greg’s outfit as he had come as his antithesis, dressed in a traditional burglar costume, complete with stripy jumpy and swag bag.

“So, where are the girls? Are we meeting them there?”

“What girls?”

“I thought you said you had organised the Plus Ones for us.”

“I have, but I never mentioned girls. I’ve booked us a couple of male dates for the evening.”

“What?! Why would you get men?”

“Don’t try and fool me, John Watson. I know you swing both ways, just the same as I do.”

“Well, yes, but you have to admit ladies would be the more traditional option.”

“Who wants to stick to traditions? You need to be shaken out of that rut you seem to have got yourself into. I’ve just finished a case where escort agencies were being targeted and I had cause to go to several in the area and this place was amazing; you should have seen some of the people they had on their books. The case is over now so there is no impropriety involved. I spoke to the manager and he’s matched us up with two dates for the party.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I guess. How are we supposed to recognise them then if everyone is going to be in masks?”

“He said they’re both quite tall and would be waiting together to the right of the bar when we go in.”

John shook his head in a resigned way and smiled. “You really haven’t changed, have you, Greg.”

“Would you want me to?”

John laughed. “No, I really wouldn’t. We always had great fun when we went out. Let’s hope tonight is just as good.”

When they reached the Dorchester they presented their invitations and were escorted over to the ballroom which was suitably festooned for the occasion. They looked across to the bar and saw two, tall gentlemen with the heads together, talking quietly as they surveyed the room. One was dressed as a very elegant Regency gentleman with high-waisted breeches, waistcoat and tailed jacket, and a black wig with a short ponytail finished with a black bow. The other was quite as swashbuckling as John himself with an open-necked laced shirt and tight black trousers and knee-high shiny boots, with a sword tucked into a sash at his waist and a pirate’s hat atop his head. Both had simple black eye masks to complete their outfits.

“Ooh, very nice. Any preference?”

“Well, I think us swashbucklers ought to stay together, so if you aren’t bothered either way then I’ll take the pirate please.”

“Fine, but I don’t want to hear of any shenanigans regarding inappropriate weapon manipulation.”

“I can assure you that if the need arises it would be very appropriate.”

“Keep your double entendre to yourself, Mr Watson.”

“Then don’t ask leading questions, Mr Lestrade.” John joined in with Greg’s laughter and they made their way over to their dates for the evening in high spirits.

“Good evening. I’m Greg Lestrade and this is John Watson; I believe you’re expecting us.”

The pirate looked them up and down and then snorted. “How quaint. Do you consider us in need of an agency to tout our not-inconsiderable wares?”

“I’m sorry, has there been some sort of misunderstanding?”

“Not at all. Don’t be rude, Sherlock. Of course, we were awaiting you.”

“Mycroft! We have things to be doing.”

“We also have company now. You must forgive my brother; always rushing into everything.”

“What use will a police inspector and a retired medical officer be to us?”

“Wait… what? How did you know that? The agency obviously knew I was a detective but they didn’t know anything about John; how did you?”

“I had no information from this agency but this is a Sandhurst reunion so you obviously both trained for the military. You, however, no longer maintain a regulation army haircut so clearly trained as military police then transferred out to join the regular force.”

“How did you know that I was a police officer though?”

“Who else would find a criminal outfit so amusing?”

“What about me, then?” John took over as Greg looked a little disheartened.

“You have clearly been on active duty as recently as three months ago. Your hands are tanned but there is no tan above your wrists so not from sunbathing, therefore, serving in a hot country; most likely Afghanistan. Your injury has precluded your continuing service, thus you have been honourably discharged; though I would say that the leg was not the point of impact as you are not favouring it as you stand here.”

John shuffled his feet, looking down at the leg that he had, indeed, temporarily forgotten was hurting for a moment. “How did you know I was a doctor?”

“You have the hands of a surgeon as evidenced by the way you are holding your blade and the knot you have tied in your bandana is that used universally in operating theatres.”

“That was amazing.”

“Really?”

“Of course. It was extraordinary; quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

John burst out laughing and Sherlock’s lip twitched shyly; pleased to be the cause of the laughter instead of the butt of it, for once.

“Well, if you have finished showing off, Sherlock, we should make proper introductions. I am Mycroft Holmes and this, as you have heard, is my brother, Sherlock.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Greg smiled at them and stepped towards the bar next to Mycroft. “Shall we get some drinks and find a table?”

They all ordered a drink - even Sherlock, after a glare from Mycroft and a huge sigh from himself – and sat at a round table in the corner where they had a full view of the room. John sat by Sherlock against one wall and Greg manoeuvred himself next to Mycroft against the other.

“So, that seems a bit unusual for brothers to sign up together; especially when it seems incomprehensible that either of you can be short of opportunities looking as you do.”

“Thank you, Gregory, that’s most generous of you to say,” Mycroft smiled at him, seeming shyly pleased at receiving such a compliment. “I’m afraid neither Sherlock nor myself have really been interested in obtaining companionship before now so we thought we would engage a service to streamline the process.”

“Well then, I consider us very lucky to be the recipients of your attentions for the evening. Don’t you agree, John?”

“I do. It’s great to meet someone so clever and handsome at the same time.”

“I fear you are flattering unnecessarily, John, as you already have our accompaniment for the duration.”

“There was nothing unnecessary about it; it was the simple truth.”

Sherlock looked surprised. He had certainly had comments on his looks before, but people were never interested in his astute comments and his remarks instantly irritated people and put all thoughts of his looks out of their heads. He took a sip of his drink, hiding the slight blush that darkened his cheeks.

“So, what is it you do, Sherlock?

“I am a Consultant.”

“A medical man?”

“Not that type of Consultant, I’m afraid. I specialise in criminology, fulfilling private contracts and, more recently, providing assistance to the British Government, of which my brother is such a renowned ornament.”

“Honestly, Sherlock,” Mycroft scowled at him. “I occupy a minor position.”

“So, you’re a private detective?”

“Hardly so common! I have consulted for Scotland Yard; you don’t imagine they hire amateurs.”

“Wait a minute; you’re *that* Holmes!”

“To which Holmes are you referring?”

“Did you work with DI Dimmock? I remember him telling me about this bloke who knew everything about him and solved his crime after just a couple of minutes looking around the scene.”

“It was a simple deduction that should have been obvious to anyone with a modicum of intelligence.”

“If you’re so clever and you’ve been cleared to consult with the Yard then why haven’t I heard about it?”

“I’m not officially a paid consultant and the DI was loath to call me in again after I provided him with the unvarnished truth about his incompetence.”

“I can’t imagine why!”

“Nor could I. It was quite ridiculous.”

“I was being sarcastic,” Greg smiled. “Saying that, though, Dimmo is a bit of a delicate flower and takes offence very easily. If you can solve crimes as quickly as he said – and judging by the way you nailed us so quickly, I can well believe it - you should help me instead.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, then his lip turned down as he frowned at Greg, looking confused. “If you are dangling false incentives in front of me to secure your pleasure for the evening, I will be incredibly disappointed.”

“I’m not dangling anything; I’m completely serious. Plus, I wouldn’t use bribery to secure anyone’s services, I am an officer of the law, you know.”

“That means nothing. If you’d seen some of the officers I’ve observed...”

“Sherlock, don’t be rude,” Mycroft butted in before Sherlock could go in to further details. “You do your uniform proud, Gregory. Ignore Sherlock. I know he would be delighted to assist you in any way and I will liaise with your Department about getting him enrolled as an official consultant to enable you to call him when necessary without fear of complications.”

Sherlock looked a bit surprised, both at the offer to assist from Greg and the proposal to make it official from Mycroft. Maybe helping his brother this evening would prove more beneficial than he had anticipated. Speaking of which he spied their quarry, Jenkins, entering through the lobby and raised his eyebrow at Mycroft who nodded.

Sherlock watched as the man saluted a couple of officers near the door before escorting his companion over to a nearby table where they joined a large group who were already seated. Sherlock kept him in his peripheral vision as he continued his own conversation with John, Greg and Mycroft. After Jenkins’ table had finished their second round of drinks the group all stood up and made their way onto the dance floor.

Sherlock shuffled his way past John and held out his hand.

“John, would you care to dance?”

John coughed, looking embarrassed. “I’m not quite so light on my feet at the moment.”

“Nonsense. Your leg injury is completely psychosomatic, you’ll manage just fine.”

“I know it’s just in my head, but that doesn’t make it work any better. Why don’t you ask Greg instead?”

“I was just going to ask Gregory, myself.” Mycroft stood up and smiled at Greg who nodded and took the hand extended towards him, shrugging a 'sorry' at John as they moved on to the dance floor.

“I’m a very strong lead, John, you won’t be embarrassed by me, I can assure you.”

“It’s not you being embarrassing that I’m worried about.”

“Why don’t you give it a go and if you feel uncomfortable we can stop. It’s so rare that I get an opportunity to dance, and I’ll let you in on a little secret - which I will deny if you mention - that I love dancing.”

John looked at Sherlock’s face. How could he refuse? Even through the mask he could see the puppy-dog eyes and the pouting lip.

“Fine! But, if I trip you up and you fall flat on your face then it’s your own fault.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Come on.”

John allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and he let Sherlock lead him out, leaning on his arm instead of taking the cane which he left propped against his chair.

Sherlock put one arm around John’s back and held the other up ready for John to take. John held on tight, stumbling a little as Sherlock edged him back on to his bad leg but Sherlock didn’t allow him to fall and swiftly moved them back on to John’s stronger leg again. He provided stability every time they moved, placing his leg close to John’s own and holding firmly above John’s waist to provide him support and pretty soon John stopped over-thinking things and just let himself follow the music.

Sherlock was an excellent dancer and he had them spinning around the floor with such flair and ease that any thoughts of his injury completely slipped John’s mind and all trace of the limp disappeared. Sherlock smiled to himself that he’d been correct about his hypothesis about John’s leg, then shrugged it off and positioned them so that they were dancing next to Jenkins. It seemed things had been moving apace with their quarry and he had already swapped partners and was now dancing with the General’s wife.

The Holmes brothers had attended tonight as Mycroft’s informant had suspected that the wife was the liaison for the General himself. After only a few moments watching her confident manner, Sherlock realised that this woman was no mere liaison, she was the instigator of the plot herself. Mycroft had told Sherlock that the General had been working with Whitehall on some top secret military plans and they had thought that he was secretly trying to pass the details on to a foreign power. Sherlock could tell that was not the case. 

It appeared that the General had not been as covert as he supposed in his illicit liaison with his own under-secretary as, from the looks his wife was sending him, she was well aware of the affair. She had clearly decided to get her own back by having him humiliated and probably expelled from the service by implicating him personally in this deal she herself was arranging with Jenkins.

As Sherlock spun John round he saw the moment when she slipped the small flash drive into Jenkins top pocket under cover of brushing some lint off his collar. He locked eyes with Mycroft, who clearly had reached the same conclusions about the woman as had his brother. With no words necessary, only subtle eye movements, they established that Mycroft would deal with the wife and Sherlock would take Jenkins.

“It seems I’m going to have to leave you now, John. I’m afraid there’s somewhere else I need to be.”

“Are you doing your consulting?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, seeing as you and your brother aren’t really the dates that Greg hired, I’m assuming you’re here on business of your own.”

“How do you figure that?”

“By watching those two, tall gentlemen at the right hand side of the bar who are constantly looking at their watches as if waiting for someone. I assume they are searching for us. That means that the comments you made when Greg first spoke to you about not needed a dating service were correct. Mycroft tried to brush it aside but you were quite right when you said the concept was ludicrous – I mean, what need could you possibly have for help in that field.”

Sherlock blushed at that, but John continued on.

“Therefore, if you are not our dates and you have clearly not been in the military then I can only assume that you are here on business, which means doing detective work.”

“John, that was amazing! It was an absolutely eloquent piece of deduction and that, believe me, is not something I often say.”

John laughed, “Well, I’m glad I could entertain.”

“That was no mere entertainment, that was impressive, and I don’t impress easily.”

John smiled shyly, pleased that he had done something Sherlock considered important. Capturing the attention of this stunning man was most certainly an achievement. 

“Can I do anything to help? What exactly is going on?”

Sherlock swirled John round again. “Do you see the couple now behind my left shoulder? She is the wife of General Harmon, whom you can see over to my right just getting a drink of punch for his secretary standing beside him. His wife has decided to get her own back for her husband’s blatant affair by getting him fired for selling military secrets, which she herself has just passed to the foreign agent with whom she is currently dancing. Mycroft is going to confront the wife and I am about to follow Jenkins when he leaves to take those plans back to his bosses.”

“Brilliant. You’d better be quick then, it looks as if he is getting ready to go now.”

As Sherlock spun them round he saw that John was quite correct. Jenkins was kissing the lady’s hand and bowing as the piece of music came to an end. Rather than head back to the table towards the group to whom he had attached himself for the evening to gain entry, he was making his way over towards the exit.

“Come on, John, we can’t let him get away with those plans.”

Sherlock still had hold of John’s hand so he pulled him across the dance floor, keeping Jenkins in sight as they went. John kept up easily, the thrill of the imminent chase distracting him completely from the fact that he had left his cane at their table. As Sherlock and John burst into the foyer they were unlucky that Jenkins turned round and caught them looking intently at him. He realised he'd been made and dashed to his left, heading towards the kitchen with them in hot pursuit. Just as he was going to push through into the kitchen, one of the waiters came out with a trolley, blocking the doorway so he grabbed the trolley from the side and pushed it forward into their path, shoving the waiter towards them as well. 

Sherlock jumped out of the way of the trolley and managed to sidestep the waiter who lost his balance as he tried to right himself and move out of their path. Unfortunately, this moved him further into John's way and he had to grab hold of the waiter and swing him round to allow him to get past. The waiter kept going on that trajectory and spun round again with John shouting 'sorry' at him as he kept on twirling.

Sherlock followed Jenkins down the middle aisle, swerving his body as he tried to avoid the obstacles being pulled out in front of him. John went left and ran straight down to the end, trying to beat them to the bottom as he had a clear path except for the staff who were helpfully keeping out of his way after they heard Sherlock shouting 'Police' as he made his way past them.

John reached the end and saw a trolley stacked with trays waiting to be cleared and emptied into the dishwasher. He judged his timings perfectly and, at just the right moment, he kicked one of the trays in from his side and it shot out the other side, catching Jenkins on the ankle and quickly bringing him down as he tried unsuccessfully to maintain his footing. Sherlock grabbed his ankles to make sure he couldn't get up again and John pressed his knee into his back to hold him down. John pulled Jenkins hands together behind his back and whipped off his bandana and used it to tie them together, keeping him in place.

When he was tied, Sherlock rolled Jenkins over and took the flash drive out of his breast pocket and slipped it into his own.

"Well, that's another one in the bag. I think Mycroft might owe me a knighthood for this one."

John laughed and moved out of the way as two men dressed in black suits - members of Mycroft's team, who had been waiting in the wings, he presumed - came through and frogmarched Jenkins out through the exit at the rear of the kitchen. John and Sherlock headed back towards the ballroom to see if Mycroft had been as successful with his portion of the mission.

It appeared Mycroft had everything in hand as General and Mrs Harmon were being very quietly escorted out through a side door of the ballroom by another pair in black suits. Mycroft nodded towards Sherlock and all four of them made their way back to their table where a new round of drinks were just being laid down in their previous places. John took a sip of his drink then grinned at Sherlock next to him.

"Well, that wasn't quite the dull evening I had been expecting."

"Hey, what do you mean 'dull'?" Greg butted in, "I was planning it so it was never going to be dull, thank you very much."

John laughed. "I'll give you your due, you have thrown some wild bashes in your time; I just wasn't expecting this to be one of them. Though I have to say, I have no objections to how it's turned out." He smiled warmly at Sherlock who glanced down bashfully for a moment before rallying and reaching across to pass John his walking stick.

"It seems I have resolved your need for a therapist also, as it appears your psychosomatic leg problem is cured."

John looked stunned at the sight of the stick, putting pressure on his leg under the table and realising that Sherlock was right. There was no pain at all.

"Wow! You really are amazing."

This time Sherlock blushed in earnest and Mycroft took pity on his brother, indicating the buffet.

"As our official business is concluded for the evening, shall we partake of some refreshments before I take you back out on to the dance floor, Gregory?"

Greg grinned. "Now, that sounds like a plan. Are you two coming?"

Sherlock started to shake his head but John shepherded him out from his seat. "You'll need to replenish your energy if you're going to swing me round the floor again. I want to see if I can impress you with my moves when I'm not worrying about tripping you up after each step."

Sherlock laughed. "I'm sure your skills are multitudinous, Doctor Watson. I certainly look forward to finding out."

It was John's turn to blush shyly as he followed the others to the buffet tables.

They filled their plates, even Sherlock helped himself to a few treats, after John nudged him and raised his eyebrows suggestively a couple of times.

When they'd finished, the two couples headed back out on to the dance floor. They spent the rest of the night enjoying their partners' company, all instinctively knowing that this was only the first of many evenings they would spend together.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Just a harmless bit of fluff for Christmas. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Thanks to A as always.


End file.
